ed, as the camps would be at the ford. Meanwhile the
cattle-men again petitioned the Ranger at Antelope to stir up the
service at Washington in regard to grazing allotments.

The round-up began. The Concho outfit moved camp to the ford and
Sundown had his first introduction to real work. From morning till
night and far into the night the fires were going. Groups of belated
riders swung in and made for the chuck-wagons. Sundown, following a
strenuous eighteen hours of uninterrupted toil, solemnly borrowed a
piece of "tarp" from his outfit on which he lettered the legend:--

"CAFE DE CONCHO--MEELS AT ALL
HOURS--PRIVIT TABELS FOR LADYS"

He hung the tarp in a conspicuous place and retired to rest. The
following morning his efforts were applauded with much picturesque
expletive, and even criticism was evoked by a lean puncher who insisted
"that the tall guy might be a good cook all right, but he sure didn't
know how to spell 'calf.'" Naturally the puncher's erudition leaned
toward cattle and the range.

At all times conspicuous, for he topped by a head and shoulders the
tallest rider on the range. Sundown became doubly conspicuous as the
story of his experience with the hold-ups and his rescue of Chance
became known. If he strutted, it was pardonable, for he strutted among
men difficult to wrest approval from, and he had won their approval.

At Hi Wingle's suggestion, he "packed a gun"--a formidable .45 lent him
by that gracious individual, for it grieved the solid Wingle's soul to
see so notable a character go unarmed. Sundown, like many a wiser man,
was not indifferent to the effect of clothing and equipment. Obliged
frequently to relate his midnight adventure with the robbers, he became
a past-master in the art of dramatic expression. "If I'd 'a' had me
gun with me," he was wont to say, slapping the holster significantly,
"the deal might 'a' turned out different. I reckon it's luck I
didn't." Which may have been true enough, for Sundown would
undoubtedly have been afraid to use the weapon and Fadeaway might have
misunderstood his bungling.

In his spare time he built a lean-to of odds and ends, and beneath it
Chance drowsed away the long, sunny hours while Sundown was rustling
firewood or holding hot argument with an obstreperous dutch-oven. And
Chance became the pet and the pride of the outfit. Riders from distant
ranches would stray over to the lean-to and look at him, commenting on
his size